


Before we Disappear

by Danagirl623



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Anal Sex, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Oral Sex, possible trigger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-05-03 18:37:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14575137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Danagirl623/pseuds/Danagirl623
Summary: I was listening to Pandora as I drove home today and I heard "Before We Disappear" by Chris Cornell.How hard can it be to share your love with me?How hard can it be to rise with me each morning?How long when it feels like we'll live forever?I fear that time will hide the years.I started thinking about Sherlock and his years of drug abuse and how John Watson keeps him right. "It's always you, John. You keep me right!"Then I started thinking about the bad choices Sherlock had made before John. (I'm sure John did too. You don't just come out with the morals of the good Dr.)I’ve decided that the Mary/Rosie problem doesn’t exist in this universe. It’s just easier that way.So stick with me. It'll be a ride....





	1. Introduction

What everybody gets wrong about Sherlock Holmes’ relationship with Victor Trevor is it wasn’t about the sex. Sure, the sex was OK. I mean they were to fumbling teenagers who wanted to get off. It was mediocre at best. What it was really about was the drugs. Victor Trevor knew how to get the best cocaine. Every time Sherlock was a little bored or a little lonely or hell a little horny, he’d end up on Victor’s door waiting for that sweet oblivion cocaine would bring. Victor never charged him money for this. Victor had his own money.

  
Sherlock would show up some night, or some early morning, and Victor would meet him at the door with a grin. He’d follow him up to his bedroom, where Victor would put on a CD before he’d dole out the cocaine. Sherlock always hated that part. The waiting for the buzz. It was so close he could smell it in the air, but it wasn’t in him yet. The anticipation would heighten his deduction abilities until the stream of data flowing into his brain would almost be painful.

 

The music Victor picked was always something terrible. There was never any violins or cellos or any sexy instruments in it. However the one guy, Chris Cornell, wasn’t a total waste to Sherlock. Mostly because he thought he heard Victor call him Chris one night when they were fucking.

  
Finally. Finally, the cocaine would come out. Victor never tried to kiss him. He said his cocaine dusted lips tasted funny. But once Sherlock had the cocaine in him, he felt like he was flying. The deductions that had been an audible roar previously were so quiet not even a mouse could hear them. Suddenly he gave no fucks about what Victor did to him.

  
After his association with Victor ended he did enter a rehab and then that mangy apartment on Montague Street. After struggling to stay sober for 12 months, Mrs. Hudson finally opened her door to him. Baker Street had become his home. Sure the drug cravings were still there and the deductions were still too fast sometimes, but he finally had a home. And he still had Chris.

  
At first being with John Watson was very similar to waiting for the cocaine at Victor’s house years ago. There would be that heady the rush of anticipation, and then the overflowing of sensation. The deductions would hit him with almost a palpable ping! on the skin. But when John Watson looked at him, the deduction stopped. Slowly over time they would start again, but not as fast and nowhere near as painful as before. Sherlock found that he could process things easier with John around. He found the uselessness that came with the cocaine and the heroin and whatever else he had tried before, were no longer an issue when he was under the influence of John Watson.


	2. "You're gay?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this is more adult then I thought it would so, just abandon all hope ye who enter here.

Sherlock buttoned up his tight fitting purple shirt before he glanced in the mirror. His curls were laying perfectly. There was no acne or shaving irritation to be seen on his face. He tucked his shirt into his trousers. He slowly spun around to check himself out. He looked good. He wasn’t a fool. He knew what others saw when they saw him. He didn’t care about others. He cared about John H. Watson and what he thought when he saw him.

  
“I’m not gay!” came to the foreground of his mind again. Sherlock laughed at John’s words that replayed in his memory. He pushed them away with his right hand, then left the bathroom. He went up to John’s closed door and knocked.

  
John answered it with a confused look. “Hi?” He asked, questioningly.

  
Sherlock drew himself up to his full height. “I know I said I don’t know how to do this… Thing we’re cooking, but I’d like to invite you to come to dinner with me.” Sherlock smiled kindly at him.

  
John scratched his head. “Uh, yeah. Sounds fine to me.”

 

“Or we could stay in and listen to records, if that’s more agreeable.”

  
“Records? You own records.” John said, accusingly.

  
“Yes. Many.”

  
“Just classical and opera right?”

  
“Not in the least, John Watson. I was introduced to Chris Cornell-”

  
“From Soundgarden?”

  
“One of his bands, yes.”

  
“I’d like to stay home and listen to your music.” John smiled, then looked Sherlock over. There was something in John’s eyes that Sherlock didn’t recognize. No, he might know what it is, but he’s never seen it in John’s eyes. Not even with Janine, or the teacher, or the one with the dog. It was alluring, intoxicating, and Sherlock instantly craved more. “Will you give me a half hour so I can get cleaned up?”

  
“Whatever you need, dear.” Sherlock said, smiling. “Would you like take away or I could burn you a grilled cheese?”

  
“Take away sounds good.” John laughed. “You cook? Wait. You said burn. Nevermind. Just pick me something, Sherlock.” John went back into his room and shut the door.

  
Sherlock grinned, hoping that John would hurry. To fulfill John’s request, he went into his bedroom. He shut the door with an audible click, then flung himself on his bed. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, and scrolled through the comment section of his website.

  
Boring.

  
Dull.

  
He flipped to John’s blog. He scrolled through those comments. He stopped at one signed VT. He read it twice.

  
_Dr. Watson. I enjoy reading your blog and hearing all about the exploits of W. Sherlock S. Holmes. I knew him in college. He looks better than ever. You have been the best sort of co-worker for him. Do give him my love. VT_

  
Sherlock brought up his text messages and sent one to VT. Hell, he didn’t even know if it was still his number, but he assumed that Victor would keep anything his Daddy was paying for.

  
_Kindly leave me and JW alone-SH_

  
Sherlock didn’t have to wait long to receive a response.

  
_So you have been receiving my text message?-VT_

  
_Naughty -VT_

  
_Does your dear John have a big dick?-VT_

  
_Victor. Stop.-SH_

  
_Oooh. Little Sherlock is still single. Was my dick the last you had?-VT_

  
Sherlock groaned, and shot a text off to his brother Mycroft.

  
_Can’t you arrest that little shithead Victor Trevor?-SH_

  
_Do you miss me, Sherlock?-VT_

  
_On what charges?-MH_

 

_Breathing- SH_

  
_VT, kindly remove my number from your phone-SH_

  
_Want to come over? I got some cocaine and my dick is already hard at the thought of your pretty lips-VT_

  
_MH, you need to fix this-SH_

 

Any other messages that came from Victor Trevor were deleted until John knocked on his door. “I’m ready if you are still interested.”

  
Sherlock stood up and smoothed out his shirt. He opened the door, and tried to smile. John looked really good. He was freshly bathed and dressed in too small jeans. He had ridiculous reindeer socks on, and just a thin long-sleeved shirt. Sherlock tried not to drool as he looked over John’s body. Jesus this man was going to kill him.

  
“So what did you order?”

  
“I wasn’t sure what you wanted.” Sherlock lied, with a smile.

  
“Are you telling me you asked me to have dinner with you and fail to provide dinner?” John smirked, with a laugh. “Do you want a beer?”

  
“I’ll order it now.” Sherlock turned back into his room and grabbed his phone. There were 15 missed messages from Victor. He deleted them, before he texted Angelo. He’d know what to bring and he could discard his phone.

  
“Your phone seems to be pretty active tonight.” John mentioned as he brought Sherlock a beer. “Got a crush on someone?”

  
“Well, yes, I do have a crush.” He gave John a very pointed look as if he was trying to say “ON YOU” without saying it. “But not on him.” Sherlock tried to brush it off. “Just my ex-”

  
“Ex what? Friend? You said you didn’t have friends.”

  
“I don’t, John. I have you.” Sherlock explained, pushing his John towards the couch. Sherlock sat down sipped the beer. “Is this the worst beer in England?”

  
John chuckled. “It’s not American beer.” John joined him in the couch, and plucked at his sock seam. “You promised me music.”

  
“Any preference?”

  
John shook his head. “I find it fas- You are trying to distract me from asking what does “my ex” mean.”

  
Sherlock grinned, “Ah, John you do know my methods intimately.” He stood up and turned on the record player. He grabbed a Chris Cornell record. He turned it on, and returned to his seat. He thinks it was the word “intimately” that threw John off.

 

“I do know your methods, but what do you mean by “my ex”?”

  
Sherlock shrugged. “He had cocaine and sometimes we’d fuck.”

  
“You used to fuck a drug dealer? On purpose?” John demanded, angry. Oh great, just fucking great.

  
“Well, technically I would do the drugs and he’d take advantage of me.” Sherlock said, trying to make it sound better.

  
“So you sold your body for cocaine?”

  
“No.” Sherlock said, finishing his beer. “I would be blasted out of my mind and he’d rape me.”

  
The anger melted out of John once he realized what Sherlock just said. “That’s not a joke.”

  
“I’m not laughing.” Sherlock pointed out. “You’re handling the whole “my flatmate’s gay and has a crush on me” thing a lot better than I thought you would.”

  
“You’re gay?” John asked, as if the thought never occurred to him. "I don't know you at all."

  
“What is there to know? I’m a recovering junkie that solves crimes for a high.”

  
“There’s so much about you no one knows.”

  
“That’s on purpose. John, even you must know that I’m a highly adept liar.”

  
John looked at him. “Beer. I need another beer. You want another beer?” Sherlock nodded.


	3. Secrets

“John, I will tell you anything you want to know about my past.”

  
John came back to the living room with two beers. He gave one to Sherlock and sat down next to him. “I stopped asking after Angelo-” he cut himself off, and took a draught of beer. “I tried to find out about you. You very effectively told me to piss off.”

  
“I don’t remember saying “piss off” exactly. I do remember-”

  
“Are you going to tell me that you deleted that conversation? I’m offended as fuck.”

  
Sherlock chuckled, “I have not deleted a single moment of you, John Watson.”

  
“Oh, piss off. You have too.” John laughed, grinning. “I’m going to ask you questions and you will answer me.” Sherlock shrugged noncommittally. “Do you have any tattoos?”

  
“Yes.” Sherlock laughed, and handed him his beer. He untucked his shirt, and pulled it up in the back. There was a honeybee tattooed there. “Mycroft forbade me from ever getting a tattoo. So I went to the nearest parlor and asked for the most popular location. I was going through my rebellious phase. I was 16.”

  
“Jesus christ!” John exclaimed, leaning in to look at it. “You seriously have a honeybee tramp stamp.”

  
“I’ve never heard it called that, but yes. I do.” Sherlock laughed, leaving his shirt untucked. He sat back on the couch with his beer.

  
“Any piercings?”

  
“Not my thing.” Sherlock said, swallowing a mouthful of his beer. “Why do you always tell people you’re not gay when you are very clearly bisexual and have been with men before?”

  
“Because-” John paused a moment, then shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t feel like explaining I like giving head.”

  
“Excuse me?” Sherlock asked, trying to picture John engaging in that sexual act. Sure he had pictured John practicing fellatio on him, but not in the “it could actually happen” way.

  
“I mean.. “Giving head” is a colloquial term for oral sex on a man.” John explained, kindly.

  
“I know that!” Sherlock said, embarrassed. There was a sharp rap at the door. “This isn’t over.” Sherlock got up and went to the door. He chatted with the delivery person very kindly, and then firmly shut the door.

  
“Shall we eat like barbarians tonight?” John asked, placing his beer on the table.

  
“You mean, on the couch?”

  
“I don’t mean off the floor.” John said, leaning back. Sherlock placed the food on the table, and disappeared for forks. “You better use soap on those forks. I hate eating off dirty cutlery.”

  
“Yes, love.” Sherlock laughed as he scrubbed them clean. John chuckled to himself, as he waited for Sherlock to come back. He finished the beer, and realized that he was feeling a bit flushed. He pulled his long sleeved shirt over his head. He dropped the shirt to the floor and immediately felt cooler.

  
“I brought you another beer.” Sherlock came back in the room holding two beers and silverware. He glanced over at John. Sherlock felt his mouth go dry.

  
“You ok, love?” John looked up at him. Sherlock noticed that John’s entire neck was red.

  
“I’m fine.” Sherlock smiled at him. “You really are quite handsome. I enjoy seeing you so confident.”

  
John look changed to one of surprise. “Oh, the shirt.” John said. “I got hot.”

  
Sherlock soaked in John’s gorgeous chest and arms. “You are a delicious treat. I don’t regret this at all.”

  
John giggled, then reached out and grabbed a hand full of curls. He pulled Sherlock’s face very close to his, and took a deep breath. “Mr. Holmes, I-” John cut himself off, by placing his lips on Sherlock’s. He seemed surprised, by his own actions. Sherlock didn’t dare to breathe. John pulled away and giggled. “I have wanted to do that for years, and I am disappointed by finally getting my wish.”

  
Sherlock gasped, then complained. “You blindsided me.”

  
“Have you ever kissed someone before?” John asked, curiously. Sherlock busied himself digging out the takeaway.

  
“No.” Sherlock said, tinging pink. He finished his second beer and started his third before he managed to look at John. “Never had an interest before.”  
“So that was your first kiss?” John asked, cautiously.

  
“Yes, John.” he wanted to snarl, but he couldn’t do it. Not when he was thinking about John’s lips on his throat. John gently nipping at his shoulders. Sucking gently at his nipples.

  
John used his hand to direct Sherlock’s chin up to make eye contact. “I’m sorry it was such a flippant kiss.” John said. Before Sherlock could respond, John had taken the brunette’s curls back into his hands and pulled his head forward. Again, John’s lips touched Sherlocks, but this time they manage to slot together properly (like the kisses in movies Mycroft used to make him watch). John very gently nibbled on his top lip before he used his tongue to explore Sherlock’s mouth.

  
The kiss was AMAZING, FANTASTIC, MARVELOUS, STUN- “Wait a minute.” Sherlock broke away from John. “You like sucking dick?”

  
John started laughing heartily. “I wholeheartedly enjoy it. There is nothing better than watching your lover come apart... “

  
Sherlock shrugged his shoulders. “Head was never about coming with- In the past. It was about getting him hard so he-”

  
“Hey.” John said, placing his hand on Sherlock’s thigh. “That’s not love. That was rape. You may have participated, but any-”

  
“I know. If you apply external stimuli long enough, something will happen. Sometimes I wanted to do it.”

  
“You were high. Consent cannot be given when high, or drunk.” John held up his beer at Sherlock. “So you better tell the bartender to stop bringing these or you’ll be wanking off in the bathroom again.” John finally opened his container up, and snatched a fork from Sherlock. “I’ve seen you masturbate, before you know. You are were magnificent-”

  
“You’ve watched me masturbate?”

  
John blushed pink. “I couldn’t help it. You left the bathroom door open-”

  
“To let the steam out!”

  
“I just wanted tea!” John added, fiddling with his fork. “I wanted to come in there and drop to my knees to suck you off.” John groaned, before he took a bite of the dinner Angelo brought him.

  
Sherlock looked at John, and adopted his voice. “I don’t know you at all, John Watson.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG YOU GUYS! SH HAS A TRAMP STAMP! and JW LOVES SUCKING COCK. 
> 
> I'm enjoying writing this very much. Hope you enjoy reading it.


	4. John gets a wee bit drunk

John laughed throatily, and leaned in “I thought you liked a mystery.”

  
“I didn’t even know you were a mystery!” Sherlock smiled, then leaned in to kiss John. John didn’t close the gap, he looked at Sherlock’s face. “I want a kiss.” Sherlock actually whined.

  
“No.” John giggled, then turning back to his dinner.

  
“Rude.”

  
“You’re drinking. You can’t give informed consent.” John said, simply.

  
“That’s bullshit. You kissed me twice already without express consent.” Sherlock pointed out, “and I like your kisses.”

  
John put his fork down, and leaned back. “Sherlock, what are we?” John asked.

  
Sherlock looked at him. “British men.” John laughed. “Is that not what you were looking for?”

  
“Have you ever had a sexual relationship before? A boyfriend or a girlfriend.”

  
Sherlock shook his head “no”. “I had a drug dealer that would sometimes screw me, or sometimes force me to screw him.”

  
John sighed, then looked at him. “A relationship like I crave with you involves a lot of talking, self care, and actually being there.”

  
Sherlock nodded. “You want me?” Sherlock hated the way his own voice sounded. It was small, pathetic, lonely, surprised.

  
“Yes, I do.” John smiled. He slid off the couch, and knelt on the floor in front of his dinner. He dug into his dinner. Sherlock’s dinner was untouched. Unimportant he would say. John is what’s important. Sherlock joined John on the floor. He sat with his legs crossed. He opened his container, and saw his meal. He scoffed.

  
“He gave me too much.” Sherlock protested. John ignored his protests, and pulled Sherlock’s plate over to him. While Angelo knew John to be a pasta guy, he knew Sherlock to be extremely fickle so he typically just made him grilled ham and cheese with some chips. John took his fork and cut the sandwich into little triangles. John picked one up and held it out to Sherlock. He took a big bite and chewed it up. “John, you shouldn’t want me. I’m a giant man-child that can’t take care of himself.”

  
“You may be a man-child prone to fits, but you are also passionate, articulate, smart, intelligent, sexy as hell, and a fuck ton of defiant.” John pointed out, feeding him the last bite of that sandwich piece. John picked up a chip and held it up to him. Sherlock ate it in one bite. John shifted his body so that his legs were out in front of him.

  
“John Watson,” Sherlock grinned at him, sipping at his beer. “You are so full of shit. No one describes me as any of those. It’s arrogant, callous, rude, uncaring. No one sees me like you do.”

  
John took a bite of his pasta, then held up a triangle piece for Sherlock to eat. “That’s because you don’t let people see you.”

  
Sherlock scoffed again. “There’s nothing extraori-”

  
“Stop lying to me.” John continued to feed Sherlock alternating between sandwich and chips. “You are one of the most exceptional men on this earth. You are always saying how much smarter you are than everyone else and it’s true, when it comes to crime, no one beats you but you are so bad at being human-”

  
“That’s boring.”

  
“You’re boring.” John scoffed, laughing. Taking a bite of his own dinner, before feeding Sherlock again. Most of his sandwich was gone and there was no complaints to get it down. This was ideal.

  
“Shh, shh!” Sherlock said, hushing John who was only chewing. ““Before We Disappear” is on.” Sherlock closed his eyes and swayed in his seat. When the chorus came on, he started to sing with Chris. “How hard can it be to share your love with me? How hard can it be to rise with me each morning?”

  
John joined him on the next part of the chorus. “How long when it feels like we'll live forever? I fear that time will hide the years like we were never here. So hold on tightly my dear.”

  
John leaned into him and laid his head on his shoulder. “I love this song.” Sherlock grinned. “It reminds me of you.”

  
“When I was on my way to Baker St that first time, this came on, and I just sat and sobbed because it felt like a sign that I was finally where I was supposed to be. I know you don’t believe in signs, and I’m not sure I do. Hearing this song, which wasn’t on the radio, it was on the phone Harry gave me, felt like I-” John cut himself off, and fed Sherlock the last sandwich bit. “Before Mike found me that afternoon, I had decided to kill myself.”

  
Sherlock’s eyebrows wrinkled together. “Your life is not your own, John Watson. It belongs to-”

 

“I didn’t care, Sherlock. I had no one to live for. I had nothing to do. I couldn’t perform surgeries anymore. My hands shook far too much. No one would let me-” John laughed. “I tried to hem my old pants so the bottoms didn’t look so ragged and my-”

  
“You sew?”

  
“I suture. It’s the very same principal.” John said. “I had to rip the stitches out and try again. It was worse. I decided that right then and there was the best time to end my life. I, somehow, decided I would miss coffee most of all. Not my Mum, or my sister. Coffee. So I went for a walk to get it before I shot myself. No one would blink an eye. The police would write it off to PTSD-related suicide and my Mum would secretly be relieved. The one person in our family that manages to do well for themself and he still fucks it up. Exactly like my old man did.” John was drunk and telling things that he was sure Sherlock hadn’t deduced.

  
“Your Dad committed suicide?” Sherlock asked. He hadn’t remembered that from the file that Mycroft had given him on his potential new roommate.

  
John smirked. “No. He left Mum for his Boss’ wife. His boss found them in his bed and shot them both.” John sipped his beer, and wiped his mouth. “I’m sorry. Somehow this went from kisses to woe is me. Care to add to the conversation?”

  
“I listened to Chris a lot in rehab. He understood the pain that I was living. Drugs weren’t fun for him, either. At first, drugs were fun for me.” Sherlock started, then cut himself off. “Sorry, we were discussing where our current relationship stood.”

  
“I deserve a man like you.” John said, simply feeding Sherlock a chip.

  
“No, John. You deserve someone conventional.” Sherlock said “conventional” with all the scorn possible in such a tiny word. “You deserve a white picket fence. You deserve pancakes on a Saturday-”

  
“Do you make pancakes?”

  
“Yes, fantastic ones. From scratch.” He bragged, eyeing the chips that John had started eating himself.

  
“Will you make them for me?”

  
“It would be a farce, John. Play-acting at something I’m not. I’m nowhere near a housewife.”

  
“Who says I want a housewife?”

  
“You do.” It wasn’t an accusal, it was a remembered conversation that had been stored in the mind palace somewhere.

  
“Why can’t I be the housewife?” John argued. “I could stay home and help you with the cases full time.”

  
Sherlock opened his mouth, then closed it. “I could use you more than I’m getting you.”

  
“Oh, Mr. Holmes. The things you say with that mouth of yours.” John grinned, blushing at his ears again. “I’m not John “Three Continents” Watson for no reason. When I hear a pick up line-”

  
“I don’t use pick up lines.” Sherlock said, realizing now how what he said could be misconstrued.

  
“Please. You just said you could use me, only you didn’t mean to do physical work. You meant-”

  
“I meant with the cases!” Sherlock tried to claim innocence.

  
John placed his third empty bottle on the table, and picked up Sherlock’s. He finished that too. “Sherlock Holmes, you better hurry up and fuck me before I pass out from all this beer.”

  
Sherlock stared at him in disbelief, adjusting his hard-on. “In what world do I look like a top?”

  
“When I decided I want you, William Sherlock Scott Holmes, to put your absolutely mouth-watering rock hard cock in me, John Hamish Watson.” John leaned into him to kiss him. Sherlock backed up.

  
“John! You’re drunk! You can’t consent.”

 

“It never stopped me before.” John laughed. “I want you to fuck me.”

  
Sherlock stared at him under his chocolate fringe of hair. He was currently analyzing the situation and realizing very quickly that what John was asking was the opposite of what John deserved. Also, he would never give in to Sherlock if the situation was reversed. “Not tonight, my love.”

  
John sat back with a laugh. “Please, Sherlock?” He pouted, and tried to look innocent. “Don’t you want to place your hard cock in my tight arsehole? You’d be the first you know. Image it, Sherlock. Me on my back, with my legs resting on your shoulders.” As John spoke, Sherlock was filing the audiofile he was creating for later. “My dick hard and leaking. Waiting for your attention.”

  
“John. Stop.” Sherlock said, shaking his head. “You are so drunk right now and I don’t intend to fuck you on our first date.”

  
“Our first date? Isn’t like our 598th date already? We live together. We’ve been dating since day one. We were just too stupid to realize it.” John fixed him with a steely look meaning “no interruptions.” “I think of you more often than I think of making tea. When I’m at the office, I think about how you’re at home or chasing Lestrade. For fuck’s sake, Sherlock, I shot a guy the second day I met you. You stole me an ashtray. We’ve been dating for months and yet you refuse to place your dick in me.”

  
“John, let’s go to bed.” Sherlock said, deciding that he could possibly wrangle a drunk John easier if he was half way to sleep, then wide awake. Sherlock stood up and helped John gingerly. John buried his face into Sherlock’s chest, and just held him for a minute. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John and hummed happily. “You smell nice, Drunky Smurf.”

  
“How do you even know the Smurfs?” John asked, pulling away to pull Sherlock into his bedroom.

  
“Mummy always called my grandfather Drunky Smurf.”

  
“So you don’t know who the Smurfs are?” John asked, grinning. He started to unbuckle his jeans. “Did you agree to fuck me?” He asked, noticing his cock at half mast. He pushed his jeans down to his ankles and tripped climbing out of them.

  
“No sex, John Watson.” Sherlock said, gently catching him. Sherlock waited until John had crawled into bed before he joined him. First he had to turn the lights off, then remove his clothes. He couldn’t let John see the scars on his back from the time he had disappeared for two years. They had handled that by going a few rounds before John’s anger had cooled. Now they pretended like it never happened.

  
“Sherlock.” John said, sleepily. “You deserve someone young and whole, so don’t be a simpleton and choose someone else.”


	5. Anger is a bitch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bit shorter of a chapter, but you know how unpredictable those boys can be.

Sherlock couldn’t sleep. Yes, he finally had John in his arms in his bed in just his pants (but no sex, so that was a negative). But something was wrong. That “Don’t be a simpleton. Chose somebody young and whole.” comment. It didn’t sit right with him. John was talking crazy. Sure he took a bullet and was invalidated out from the army, but Sherlock was covered in scars. His back at one point had been smooth when John had seen it last but now it was a physical road map of all the suffering he had endured for John. What was this shit? Find somebody young and whole? That was so unfair to him. John was what his heart wanted. John put up with his laziness and his bullshit antics. John was the one who taught him how to be human. John Hamish Watson was the man of his dreams and now that that dream was so close to being true, John was pushing him away? Oh fuck no this wasn’t happening.

  
Suddenly laying down was not OK anymore. He stood up and went to the living room. He paced around the rooms into the kitchen and out again then into living room up on the furniture and back down again. He tried counting as he did this. He tried counting by threes when he did this. It didn’t help. He looked for something to break or smash or punch. Nothing sufficed.

  
He went up to John’s old room and brought down the dummy they had used in a previous experiment. He strung it up from the roof. He easily maneuvered around the opponent. He went back in his bedroom. He found the old riding crop. He took it out to the living room and viciously attacked the dummy repeatedly. The loud thwack! of the leather tip hitting the plastic dummy gave him a fleeting satisfied feeling. He didn’t care how loud he was being he didn’t care who heard him right now he was furious. John Watson was going to reject him because John himself was too old for him? Fuck that.

  
He dropped the riding crop and lined up the four remaining drinking glasses on the window sill. He went back to his room. John was still sleeping.

  
“Fine, John. You want noise? I’ll make it!” Sherlock threatened. He grabbed his gun out of the drawer in his dresser. He stomped back into the living room. He stood across the way from the window and took aim. Sherlock glanced over his shoulder, expecting John to show up just in time. He didn’t. Sherlock took that as permission to shoot. He fired off all six rounds into the four glasses. Sherlock spun away with a flourish.

  
Suddenly the bedroom doorway was full of John Watson’s 5’5’’ frame. There was fury coming off him. “Sherlock Holmes. Put that goddamn gun away.” John growled at him. The Captain was coming out or he had a headache.

  
“Finally awake are we?” Sherlock shouted.

  
“It is 02:00. Everyone, but you, is ASLEEP!” John shouted the last word. His eyes were squinted together. Sherlock could feel the fury coming off him. John’s eyes were on the gun. “Put the fucking gun away.” John said, as Sherlock placed it on the mantle.

  
“John, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Sherlock asked, stalking over to the dummy in the middle of the room. He picked up the riding crop again and swung it. Thwack!

  
“What the fuck is wrong with you? You’re firing a gun at 02:00.”

  
“You! You’re what’s wrong with me.” Sherlock accused. He struck the dummy with the riding crop again. Thwack!

  
“What have I done to ruin your precious little life, Sherlock?”

  
“You told me to fuck you. You said you want me. Then you tell me to get someone young and whole. NEWSFLASH, John. I am no longer young. I am no longer whole. I am just as shattered as you think YOU are. Look at my back. Observe it John. Do you see the story it tells?” Sherlock turned his naked back to John. He was panting in anger.

  
John walked over to the lamp, and switched it on. He pulled it closer to Sherlock’s back to see it. There were thick pink scars running in all directions. John’s eyes ran over them. “This is bullshit, Sherlock.” John said, angrily.

  
“What is it now?”

  
“What doctor butchered your back?”

  
Sherlock laughed loudly. He turned around to John with mirth on his face. “I wouldn’t let a doctor touch me. I left them heal so you could see what I did for you.”

  
John looked at his face, all the previous anger was gone. John closed the gap between the two of them and placed his lips on Sherlock’s. John grabbed a fistful of Sherlock’s hair as he nibbled gently along Sherlock’s bottom lip. Sherlock moaned, placing both hands on John’s lower back. Suddenly John pulled away, and twisted the fistful of hair. “Did you cause a fight in hopes that I would rage-fuck you?” Sherlock slightly shook his head “yes.” “You fucking cock!”


	6. Undone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So it finally happens in this chapter. Thanks to Tsujigiri for her fabulous suggestion.  
> One more chapter to follow. Enjoy! Comment, kudos!

Sherlock looked up at him with a twisted grin, and managed to fall to his knees before John could stop him. John was still holding that handful of his hair, and his grip seemed to tighten rather than slacken. Sherlock groaned happily, and used his lips to kiss up John’s thigh to his rapidly forming hard-on. Through the fabric, Sherlock kissed along his penis. At the head, Sherlock mouthed at it, quickly the pants grew wet. John got lost in the sensation of Sherlock’s perfect mouth licking at his leaking head. Through the fabric, there was just enough friction to feel something. For just a moment John allowed him to mouth at it. Finally John’s controlling side kicked in. He pulled Sherlock’s hair sharply, and pulled his head away from his protesting erection. “God damn it, Sherl.” he growled, holding Sherlock’s head away from his body.

  
Sherlock put on a very innocent face, and looked up at him through his lashes. “John, you begged me to shove my cock in your arse. I was just treating you to what you deserve.”

  
John stared down at him, panting. “You devious hell beast.”

  
“Yes, John.” Sherlock moaned, tilting his head away from John’s grip. Sherlock’s elegant long violinist fingers were fingering his own erection.

  
“Absolutely not, you bloody prick. Your cock belongs to me.” John said, pulling him towards the bedroom. Sherlock followed with a grin.

  
“Fuck me, John.” Sherlock said, moaning a bit. “Please, John, put your throbbing cock in my arse. Don’t you know I’ve been waiting for you to do just that all these years? Please John, show me what it means to be loved by a man.” Sherlock was begging, tripping over himself as John deposited him on his own floor. He sat with his legs tucked under him. He put his own hands on his knees, and went back to begging John. “Please, Jooohn. I can see your delicious cock growing hard under my words. Please, won’t you help me?”

  
“Jesus fuck!” John said, pacing in front of this gorgeous man on his knees begging him for sex. “You deserve better than a drunk fuck.” John said, sharply as he fell to his own knees. “As you’re an inpatient cock-hungry greedy brat, I guess that’s all you’ll get.”

  
Sherlock groaned, and reached out his hands to touch John’s body. John was too quick for him, as he leaned over Sherlock’s hard cock and swallowed it down. John moaned in pleasure, while Sherlock gasped a bit. John was very good at this bit. He licked and sucked and hollowed out his cheeks as he worked on Sherlock’s dick. Sherlock’s always ticking brain slowly logged off until all Sherlock was feeling was the incessant need to come down John’s throat. After what felt like a very few minutes, John pulled Sherlock’s dick out of his mouth with an audible pop. Sherlock whimpered, “Jooohn. Please. I need to come.”

  
“You will, you fucking slut, but right now I want to put my cock in your pert arse.” John said, standing up, and pulling his own pants off. “Or did you want to discuss it?” John ran his calloused hands over Sherlock’s arse which he had placed up in the air for him. John grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled him to his feet. “Get the lube, and come join me in my chair. Since you’re being an insistent little whore that you need my cock, you’ll have it in the way I want to give it.” Sherlock grabbed the ancient lube he had hidden in his dresser drawer and followed John out to his chair. John was stroking himself. He made eye contact with Sherlock and it sent a shiver through his spine. The intensity in John’s eyes shone out.

  
“Come here, Sherlock. I want you to stand with your arse to me, and touch your toes.” John instructed, still stroking his own cock. Sherlock hastened to comply. “Lovely.” John commented, running both his hands over Sherlock’s thighs.

  
“Mmm.” Sherlock said, throatily.

  
“Hm, so the great Sherlock Holmes loves to be touched. Eager little slut, aren’t you?” John asked, as his hands wondered. “Keep your hands on your ankles.” John instructed, reaching between his legs to get the lube. “Now, this is my favorite part, so keep your whore mouth shut and let me enjoy it.”

  
John didn’t waste any time in opening Sherlock’s arse up for him. He worked slowly and methodically like only a doctor could. Sherlock had a very hard time staying quiet as he had a feeling that John was trying to tempt him to make noise on purpose. “Stand up, love. Turn slowly and take my hands. You’re bound to feel dizzy.” John said, and watched as Sherlock complied. John grinned at him wickedly. “You’re going to slowly lower yourself onto me and ride me like the slut I know you are.” John instructed clearly. “I want to see your face. I want to hear your pleasure. I want you to focus on coming.” John said, reaching out to touch Sherlock’s skin. “Do you think you can do those things for me?”  
Sherlock exhaled a shaky breath and slowly lowered himself down onto John’s hard cock. “I think I can be compliant, John.” Sherlock said, as he sat still for a moment.

  
“Lovely.” John smiled at him, with a chuckle. Slowly Sherlock rode John’s hips, making apprective noises as he went. “Is it too early, darling? Shall we return to bed?” John teased, running his hands all over Sherlock’s skin. “Faster.” John demanded, grabbing his hair and pulling. “Fuck me like you mean it. Fuck me like it’s your only chance too, because it may be.” John said, abandoning his hair to stroke Sherlock’s cock.

  
Sherlock groaned, then said, “Don’t tease me like that John.” He increased his speed, his volume growing louder. John grinned, and sensed a change in Sherlock.  
  
“Don’t you come before me.” John said, setting a new challenge for Sherlock. Sherlock redoubled his efforts, but that didn’t stop him from noticing John’s slight hip shift that had Sherlock seeing stars. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Sherlock. Fuuuuuck.” he managed before he shot his load in Sherlock’s ass. John was gone, flying, yet he struggled to stroke Sherlock twice more until he was coming too.

  
The two men sat there panting and cooling down as they floated amongst the stars. Finally Sherlock slid off John’s cock shakily. He fell to his knees, and started kissing John’s knee as a string of murmured praises fell from his lips. “So good, John. You’re perfect. I love your cock. God that mouth of yours is so incredibly sexy.”

  
John chuckled, and petted Sherlock’s head tiredly. “God, love. I think you’ll be the death of me.”

  
“Mmm. Death by sex. I haven’t heard of that. Let’s do that then I’ll come back from dead and write a paper on it.” Sherlock said, talking the most utter nonsense John’s ever heard.

  
Suddenly the apartment door flung open, a very annoyed Mrs. Hudson stood there. “It is three in the morning you two. Can’t you be decent and fuck after breakfast?”

  
Sherlock giggled, and John joined him. “I’m sorry Mrs. Hudson. That was a bit not good of us.” John said, through his giggles.

  
“You absolute areses.” She said, shaking her head. “I’m going to soundproof my apartment and you’re paying for it Sherlock.”

  
“Yes, Mrs. Hudson.” Sherlock readily agreed. She huffed and slammed the door again. They heard her angrily stomp down the steps and into her own rooms. Sherlock was giggling again. “Good thing, she wasn’t here ten minutes earlier.”

  
“Oh, please. She’d have taken a picture and framed it.” John laughed. “I mean, you are a vision in the throes of passion.”

  
“Hush it, John.” Sherlock grinned, still lazing against his leg.

  
“Do you want to go to sleep, my love?” John asked, lazily stroking his head. Sherlock nodded. “Will you sleep?”

  
“Yes, John.” Sherlock yawned, slowly standing up. Sherlock held his hands out to John who took them and allowed himself to be pulled up. Sherlock hugged John and placed a kiss on his head. “Thank you John.”

  
“Don’t thank me.” John laughed. “You have no idea what you’ve awakened between us.”

  
Sherlock laughed a throaty laugh. “Perhaps it is you that is ignorant of what you’ve awoke.”


	7. Resolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to Tsujigiri for your fabulous inspiration last night that aided in me finishing this story. 
> 
> Enjoy guys.

John woke first. He stretched out, swinging his arms and colliding with a slumbering mammoth. “‘Lock.” John said, sleepily, his body instinctively moving towards his. “Mmm. You’re so warm.” John tucked himself into Sherlock’s arms and got as close as he could.

  
“Are you real?” He managed to ask, still not opening his eyes. “I’m afraid to wake up because I just had the best dream I’ve ever had.”

  
“Open your beautiful eyes, my love.” John said, peppering his face with little kisses. His arms were hugging his chest tightly, and his chilly toes were pressed against Sherlock’s warm ankles. “Let me see you.”

  
Sherlock very carefully opened one eye. John Watson was in his arms. He knew those kind, sexy eyes anywhere. “It wasn’t a dream.” His other eye popped open.  
“No, genius.” John laughed. “I’m still here.”

  
“Did you really mean it when you said you wouldn’t fuck me again?”

  
“Absolutely not.” John said, smiling. Sherlock brushed blonde fringe off John’s forehead and used his long elegant fingers to stroke it. “Mmm.” John throatily agreed. “You’ll put me to sleep doing that.”

  
“I don’t care if you are snoring, you’re in my arms.” Sherlock said.

  
“I like it in your arms. It feels safe.” John said.

  
“Which is really a fallacy because you’re never really safe. Not in London. The crime rate is-”

  
“Don’t you start, Sherlock Holmes.” John said. “I’m safe in your arms. You’ll die to protect me.” Sherlock’s eyebrows wrinkled. “Don’t you dare argue. I know you’d rather die than let harm come to me because it’s what I feel when I see you suffer.”

  
“I don’t suffer.” Sherlock said, glibly.

  
“You do. You don’t talk about it because you assume no one cares. So you complain about being bored or insult Anderson or you play your violin for hours on end. I do care, Sherlock. I care about your feelings, your heart, your brain, and the needs of your gorgeous body. Which it’s telling me right now that you need to urinate and eat.”

  
“It is not.” Sherlock lied.

  
John snaked his hand up to Sherlock’s hair. “This relationship is going to go much smoother if you just assume I’m correct.” He grabbed a handful and twisted it in his fist. “Understood?”

  
“Yes, John.” Sherlock yawned.

  
“So go try to void, and meet me in the kitchen.” John instructed. Sherlock unfurled himself from John, and grumpily stomped into the bathroom. John stretched out and pulled Sherlock’s pillow to him. He took a deep breath. It smelt like Sherlock. It smelt like home.

  
Sherlock walked back into the bedroom to see John with a pillow over his face. Sherlock panicked a bit, stating. “John! I wasn’t that bad!”

  
John pulled the pillow away from his face. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  
“You’re trying to kill yourself.”

  
“No, I’m not you cock. I am breathing your scent in, because you’re my home. I realized it last night and every time I smell you my homesickness goes away.”

  
“Homesickness is just a longing that you can’t control.” Sherlock said, chewing his lip. “I survived Serbia because I knew my home was waiting for me.”

  
“So what you’re saying is you love me.”

  
Sherlock wrinkled his eyebrows in surprise. “I thought you knew that. I didn’t know we needed words.”

  
John laughed, heartily. “We don’t need words, but I do enjoy hearing them.”

  
“Oh.” Sherlock perked up, happily. “In that case, John Watson I love you.”

  
John groaned happily. “I love you too, you idiot.”

  
“Can we order dumplings and stay in bed?”

  
John laughed, as he stood up himself. “I want curry.”

  
“I’ll order it.” Sherlock said, pulling John to him. John wrapped his arms around his lover’s torso. “When we’re at a crime scene, I’m still the boss.” Sherlock said, trying to assert some dominance.

  
“Are you though?” John laughed craning up to kiss him. Sherlock joined in the kiss and enjoyed it for a moment.

  
“I am!” Sherlock insisted, John laughed walking to the bathroom. Grumbling, Sherlock picked up his phone. There were 572 text messages waiting for him. He screen shot the alert and opened his messages. One message was from Lestrade and one from Mycroft.

  
_How’s your head, brother mine? When’s the happy wedding? MH_

  
_Are you coming in today to file that report from last week? GL_

  
Sherlock ignored those two messages and opened the remaining 570 messages from VT. He started taking screenshots. They were violent and threatening to both John and himself. He returned to Lestrade’s message. He sent him the screen shots.

  
_Graham, if you check VT’s house, car, or work office I promise you will find the drug bust of your life. 16 Cherry Court Rd Surrey. SH_

  
_Also, have Donovon check your email for you because I sent you my report last friday. SH_

  
_This better not be a red herring. GL_

  
_I swear on John’s pert arse, it’s not. SH_

  
_Fucking finally. GL_


End file.
